Chronicles of a Monster: A Death Note Story
by xXTaintedHopeXx
Summary: With the end of a life, a black notebook is dropped, sure to cause mayhem for whomever touches it. This is the story of a boy driven by the power of a Death Note, in the 21st Century. Not meant for the light-hearted; original character.
1. Prologue: Tainted Light

_Chronicles of a Monster: A Death Note Story_

_Prologue_

_Monster._

_That's what she called me, and I accept that. That is what I am, what I have become. I am a murderer, a killer. I am a sinner._

_ I am a monster._

_My name is Chris Woods. _

_Well, maybe not anymore. Not after that fateful day…the day my life changed forever._

_You see, I recently came into possession of a special_

_Journal. Not your average journal, where one might jot down the events of their everyday life, make a list, or set a reminder. No…..This journal contains the ability to take away the life of another. I have in my possession, A Death Note._

_They say the possessor of the Death Note Can go to neither Heaven, nor Hell. Their soul is merely damned to roam this cursed world forever. If this indeed is a fact, then my fate is what I deserve. Moving on is beyond me. _

_The Death Note…It does things to you. To your mind. It whispers such sweet insanities, such moving temptations, and you listen. You cant help but listen. _

_Paranoia is the key. The note sharpens your mind, and quickens your thoughts. Your mind is ahead of you;, looking into every corner, behind every wall, eyes darting to every space imaginable, all in search of the imaginary shadow, the unidentifiable menace._

_I wish I could go back. I wish I could just hit rewind, and prevent all of this catastrophe. But if I did, I would never have met HER…_

_Anyway, This is my story. It is full of twists and turns, Dead ends, and of course, Death. If you are looking for a story of life and light, then my story is not what you seek. _

_Don't believe me? _

_Then listen to my story. _


	2. New Beginings And Dead Ends

Chapter 1:New Beginnings and Dead Ends

"Simple living is my desperate cry

Been trading love with indifference

And yet it suits me just fine

I try to hold on

But I'm calloused to the bone

Maybe that's why I feel alone

Yeah…

Maybe that's why I feel so alone."

-Creed

A/N: Story inspired by the songs Knives and Pens by Black Veiled Brides and Monster by Meg & Dia. Chapter is dark/rated for gore, bullying, and the injustice of life.

_My story begins on my seventeenth birthday. Usually the worst day of my miserable life, I have no idea why I even got up that morning. I could have avoided everything if I was just more of a coward…or maybe less of one._

xXx

October 31st. Ole Hallows' Eve. Yep, I was born on the night of witches and goblins. I didn't expect much. Nothing good, actually. Especially not from home.

I woke up that morning with a sense of dread, hearing glass bottles clinking together downstairs and knowing Janice was still up. _Probably still drinking_, I thought.

I rolled out of bed with a groan and slipped some black skinny jeans on. They were loose, and I knew that meant that I'd lost weight.I walked over to my dresser and opened the pizza box that was sitting slightly ajar on the top shelf. There was only one slice left. I had ordered this pizza a week before, what with Janice guarding the fridge like an angry militia man holding up a bank, and made it last up until this morning. Yeah, it was old, but at least it hadn't turned green yet, right?

My phone beeped on the charger, alerting me to a text message. It was from Max.

**Meeting at the usual?**

I smiled, and replied a brief _yes_.

Max was my only real friend. She was the one person I could actually have a serious conversation with, without my typical bouts of sarcasm. We've been friends ever since we were about four, and we met under...interesting circumstances. I was four years old, at a park by my house when these older kids started picking on me. Max came over and drove them off by throwing sand in their eyes.

Not caring if it was cold or if the pepperoni crunched, I ate the pizza in a hurry. I ran through the typical morning routine of dressing; I donned my Black Veiled Brides T-shirt, all the while running a brush through my thick, black hair. My red bandanna decorated my throat, and my silver lip-ring went on my mouth, the one I stole from the local piercing shop. I paused, my hand instinctively searching for the silver pentagram pendant I always wore; the best gift I've ever received. Relief flooded over me as my hand found it, and I slipped my favorite black hoodie on, which completed the outfit.

Grabbing my black Disturbed messenger bag, which I had loaded with my cell-phone, mp3 player, keys, and my journal, I headed to my door. The moment I drew back the silver lock, the wretched odor of alcohol hit me like a wall. I wrinkled my nose in disgust.

I made it down the hallway, ignoring the mess of clothes and other various paraphernalia that didn't belong to me, thinking I would be able to leave undetected. As luck would have it, Janice heard me.

"Chris! Chris!" I heard the squeaks of the couch coils, knowing Janice was attempting to stand. Beer bottles clinked with her efforts, and I'm sure some of the liquid spilled on our already filthy carpets.

Ignoring her, I stepped out the front door, turned on my mp3 player, and started my walk to school.

xXx

Somewhere along the way, as I was blaring "Don't Stop" by Inner Party System, two rough hands grabbed my shoulders, roughly throwing me forward. I landed heavily on the ground, my face in the grass. My headphones were ripped from my ears, and my mp3 player continued playing without me.

"Hey loser," a gruff voice replied. I recognized it immediately.

I sighed. "Hey Chad," I retorted. "Get bored beating up puppies?"

In reply for my smart-ass remark, his boot connected with my side, sending a heavy pain through my hip-bone and body. I gritted my teeth.

"No," he replied, with another heavy kick. "Kicking dogs," he kicked again, and I curled up in a small ball, feeling the burning ache explode in my rib-cage, "is my favorite..." another kick, this time to my knee-caps, made me gasp aloud. I heard his footsteps as he circled around me. "...thing to do!" Chad gave one final kick, this time to my spine.

I arched my back as the pain from his kick raced up and down my backbone. I curled into a tight ball and soon his footsteps faded, snickering such brilliant obscenities, such as _Emo_, and _faggot_, and I was left with the aftermath of the pains recession.

When the pain faded into a bearable ache, I sat up slowly, and looked around for my mp3 player. After an instant of initial shock, and thinking Chad made off with it or crushed it, I spotted the device several yards away. Chad, being the dick that he was, must've thrown it. After a moments hesitation, I stood, wincing as the freshly inflicted bruises were pulled taut, pounding against my skin with discomfort.

My phone beeped again in my pocket. I pulled it out and Max had texted me again.

**Where the hell are you? I'm already in class.**

I replied: **Got held up. On my way**.

I limped over to my mp3 player and painfully bent over to retrieve it. The screen was a bit scratched, but it seemed to be okay. I stuck the ear-buds into my ears and was met with My Chemical Romance's "Teenagers." It was ironic in hindsight.

I removed my cell phone from my pocket to check the time: 8:30am. First hour started at 8:00am. I sighed, defeated. Maybe I should have just stayed home, I remembered thinking. Maybe dealing with Janice wouldn't have been so bad, for she was more than likely too drunk to realize that seventeen years ago, she had given birth to me.

By some miracle, I made it to school. The hallways were quiet aside from the usual hall monitor, and they either glared at me for my unintentional tardiness, or ignored me completely. First hour was up the stairs to the left, and it was a killer on my wounded knee-cap. By the time I limped into first hour, my left knee-cap was a pulsing, live-wire of pain. The door slammed closed at my arrival, and all heads turned in my direction. The teacher had been in the middle of reciting a math equation, one that I never could've solved, much less fathomed.

"Ah," the teacher started when he turned to see what the students were staring at. He dropped the book he was holding down onto his desk, of which he was seated upon. "Chris Woods. How nice of you to grace us all with your presence. Please, have a seat. Anywhere you'd like, of course." A false smile came to his lips, but it was really just a smirk of annoyance. I never could stand those bright white, perfect teeth of his. I wanted him to gain cancer of the mouth at some point. "It's not like this is a classroom or anything." He rose from his seat, almost as if I were royalty that he was obligated to stand for.

_Ah, Mr. Sanders. He hated me so much, but at the time I really didn't understand why. Was it because I was different? Because I was smart? Or maybe it was because I was a smart-ass, and talked back to him? I didn't like dealing with peoples crap, especially when it was aimed at me_.

"Hmm," I started. "Well, _Jeff_, Thank you for clarifying that." I smirked back, and sarcasm dripped from my mouth like venom. Anger sparked in Mr. Sanders eyes, like some sort of beacon for hostile ships to come to a volatile sea. I mentally laughed at both the image and his misplaced anger. "And I'll be honored to take your request and sit where I'd like."

My seat of choice was Mr. Sanders own chair. I sat on the cushion with a sigh, but my comfort was short-lived. The fresh bruises on my body pounded in unison, and I tried not to grimace.

Mr. Sanders face got hot with rage, and his cheeks sprinkled with red. He hastily walked around his desk, glaring at me all the while. "Chris," he about roared "go to the principal's office. Now!"

So much for a chair.

xXx

Five minutes later I was found myself seated in the office, listening to the snapping of bubble-gum and Classical music from the computer. The slightly over-weight secretary was seated at her chair, attempting to look busy by filing papers. This was because I was in here, amongst the typical trouble-makers. She was more than likely reading Internet porn, or playing some card game online, wondering why she couldn't get a date.

I leaned to my right on the chairs armrest, resting my head on my elbow. The bruises hurt terribly, but I was used to the ache of freshly damaged skin. When you lived your entire life with an abusive, drunken, whore of a mother, there were no other options that didn't include running away.

_Now, I'm sure you're curious about where my father fits into this mad equation that is my life. You're just dying to know about him, who he was, where he is, blah blah...we'll get to that soon enough, promise_.

"Chris Woods," the principal called, her voice indifferent, as usual.

I slowly stood, and limped into the office, keeping the door ajar in case I needed a quick exit.

Principal Snodgrass was a small woman, barely five feet tall. Before I go any further, her name really is Snodgrass. That always makes me thinking of a field mouse snorting crack up his nostrils...but that's beside the point. She usually wore a business suit, (you know, the ones with the skirts) and she always has her hair back into a tight, mouse-brown colored bun. She has this long neck, piercing brown eyes that could cut through iron, and her pale lips were always pursed with disapproval.

Her overall appearance always reminded me of a Vulture. I'm not saying Principal S. circles dying prey or feeds off the dead, (okay, maybe just a little) or that she has a bald head and talons, (who wouldn't want to see that?) but I am saying she has this serious air about her, almost as if the world consisted of black and white, all colors drained.

I limped to the seat in front of her desk, dropped my bag on the floor, and slumped down into the comfortable leather arm-chair. My head was supported by my right arm, which irritated my bruised flesh, and with my overall disposition, I made it clear I would've rather been anywhere else.

"Chris," she started. "To what do I owe this visit?" She folded her hands in front of her desk, and I wondered if there were claws beneath those pale, pink fingernails.

I remained silent. There was no point in trying to explain- the punishment would be the same.

She raised her eyebrows. "Mr. Sanders said that not only were you thirty-eight minutes late, but you also disrupted his class by acting out when he asked you to take a seat." Now, since whoever is reading this journal, whether the pages are torn or not, you can see that the words are nice-sounding. With her tone of voice that day however, she was talking down to me like I was a drop of rain on a sunny day. "Chris, can you explain to me why you were late this morning?" Not even a please.

Still, I said nothing.

"If you do not answer me then I will be forced to assume everything Mr. Sanders reported was true." It was a statement, not a question. She would do it anyways.

My mouth remained closed, but the flame of indignation in my chest wouldn't die down.

She picked up a pile of papers on her desk, stacked them with neat movements, then laid them back down. It was almost as if she was trying to give herself something constructive to do with me in the room, or find some semblance of order in the chaos I brought her. Those thoughts came later, for in that moment, I almost laughed aloud at how pointless the gesture was.

"Chris, the detentions I assign you seem to have no effect," she said. I snickered, thinking No shit, Sherlock. "So instead, I'm going to have you go to counseling, in place of them."

Now this got my attention. I hated the thought of pretending to pour out my heart and soul to some sweaty-faced, slack-jawed man who hated me as much as I hated him. "Counseling?" I scoffed. "I don't think so."

Again she raised her eyebrows. "I'm afraid you do not have a choice in the matter."

My jaw almost dropped open in surprise, but I kept my face completely blank of what I was really feeling. Anger. How dare she claim I have no choice? "I'm afraid I'm not going."

"If you do not attend counseling at least once a day, I'm afraid I will have to call your parents."

I chuckled, thinking all the while how pathetic of a punishment that was, not to mention how futile. "Good luck with that," I muttered, under my breath.

"Excuse me?" Oh, now she hears me.

I looked her straight in the eye, and all the sarcasm evaporated from my voice. I was sick of these bullshit games. "I said I'm not going,"

She picked up her phone and began dialing a number on the key-pad. I raised my eyebrows, inwardly wondering if she was ordering a pizza. I mentally tabulated a list on WHY it wasn't so good for someone her age to be eating deep-dish. "Hello? Mrs. Woods?"

The jokes left me immediately. I looked up in shock, knowing it was clear on my face. Janice actually answered the phone?

"This is Principal Snodgrass calling about your son, Chris?" There was only silence as "Mrs. Woods" replied.

"I apologize," Principal S. answered, genuine empathy sounding in her voice. Briefly, I wondered what Janice was telling her.

The Principal paused her apologizing, and I could faintly make out Janice's slurred words on the other end of the receiver. She was still drunk. No surprise there.

"Your son," she emphasized the word, almost as if to subconsciously remind Janice that she gave birth to me. "Has obstructed Mr. Sander's class by acting out, and openly defied me. His attitude is unacceptable and utterly intolerable. The detentions I assign-"she paused in mid-sentence, pursed her lips, and moved the phone to her other ear. "Mrs. Woods?" The Principal put the phone on the receiver, and cleared her voice, almost as if she couldn't believe what I knew to be true. "It seems your mother has hung up on me."

She probably broke the phone, I thought, all the while counting the fibers in the carpet. At least they gave me something constructive to do.

"Should I call your father?" I raised my head and met her demeaning glare, one that openly stated 'I am better than you, and nothing will change that.' I hate those people .

If I could only find a way to make those eyes fear me...

The thought startled me, but I smiled. Hey, I could at least imagine it, right?

"Do you find something amusing, Mr. Woods?" Mr. Woods. That sounded like she was addressing my "father" in court or something. Never would I be Mr. Woods.

_Later, I realized that she could see that the thought of making others literally afraid of me, made me amused. It was clear even then what I would become_.

My smile widened as I replied to her. "Oh, just day-dreaming."

She arched her eyebrow, and I couldn't help but wonder if it was a defense mechanism she followed through on when she felt threatened. "That is probably why you are failing your classes," she cleared her throat again. "Now shall I call your father or will you agree to the counseling?"

I'd had enough. I bent forward and placed my elbows on my knees, clasping my hands as if I was a criminal mastermind about to confess my sins. My gaze locked on hers, and I wondered for a moment what she thought of me. "Principal S," I began "You want me gone, don't you? You don't want me in detention because you're tired of seeing if I'll choose to show up." I paused for a moment, calculating what I was going to say next. "You don't want me here, and if you could, you would just expel me." I couldn't help the smile that splayed itself across my face at her obvious fury. "But, you can't do that because, in my words, you don't have enough dirt on me. Am I right?"

She didn't reply, but I gained satisfaction in the fact that she looked away first. The Principal picked up her phone, punched in a number calmly, and after a few minutes of listening to a phone ring, she placed it back on the receiver.

"Trying to call my father?" I laughed. "He's a busy man, a lawyer. He doesn't have time to deal with me. So trying to reach him would be hopeless."

A knock made the Principal stand. She stood, straightened her skirt, and strode towards the door. I didn't bother looking back, finding her paper-weights much better company, along with the myriad of paperclips.

I heard a man's voice greet her, and then footsteps.

"Chris," the Principal began, all the while walking back around to her desk. A man in a tan suit followed her, stepping past me to stand next to her. Of course he went past me, for even back then, I wasn't worth it. "This is Mr. Phillips. He will be your counselor."

I'd had enough; counseling and faking small-talk wouldn't help me. "I'm out." I declared, all the while picking up my bag. My back was to them before I could see the looks on their faces; I'd already been given too many hated looks already.

"Chris!" Mr. Phillips called, but I was already gone.

xXx

I made my way to my locker on the third floor, noticing that neither Principal nor counselor followed me. That just proved that they didn't really care, hence I would bestow the same honor.

Amidst the throng of students changing books, applying lip-gloss, and groping one another against the lockers, I searched for my own space. I located the number, and blew out a hot breath of air from my mouth. Graffiti covered a locker right around where mine should've been.

"Please don't be mine…" I murmured.

But, of course, it was mine. Graffiti adorned my blue locker door in bright-pink, red, and black. There were words that read "Emo," "Fag" and other obscenities. Anger rose in my chest as I swirled the dial, yanking the handle open with a furious flick of my wrist. Flowers fell out, both paper, fake, and real, and among the petals were razor-blades. The bell to second hour rang, and whispers hit my ears with the mockery of how evil man could be. At least, that's what I think now, for in the moment I was too distracted with the crap that spilled out of my locker.

I looked down at the flowers and the glint of metal that stuck out amidst the plants. Painted on the back wall of my locker where yet more obscenities, splayed out in red; In the locker however, was a pink, fluffy tiara, a mockery of a crown. A note was attached, and it read: _Happy Birthday, Emo Princess_.

I crushed the note in my hand.

I grabbed a fresh journal from my locker, slammed the door, then started at a hurried pace down the hallway. Not out of embarrassment, or shame. No, I was way passed that.

I could hear the laughter and the hushed snickers of kids as I passed them, but I ignored them. What else could I do?

It felt like it took hours before I finally exited the school. It was nippy out, (haha, nippy) and the wind blew with a cold chill that sent a shiver up my spine, which seemed to make my bruises pulse ever harder.

Ten minutes later I was entering an abandoned train station, my usual haunt. Years ago, a train derailment had occurred, killing several and injuring many more. It had been ruled an accident, but I wasn't so sure. Either the conductor had a heart attack, or foul-play was underfoot.

The station itself seemed all but forgotten, a gloomy area most would rather forget. All the better, I thought, for privacies sake.

I sat on the cold pavement, back against a stone pillar, and withdrew my journal from my bag. I flipped through its cracked pages with a faint smile, reveling in its ink-strewn papers. In this journal, one of many, held my life's story.

I wrote down the details of the day in dark-red ink, and when I was finally done, the journal was almost completely filled, and dusk was approaching. I gathered my things into my bag and stood, wincing as I stretched the already irritated muscles and bruised flesh. I was starving, aching...but in a far better mood than I had been when I started, hours ago.

Thunder boomed overhead as I started on my way home, my mp3 blaring "The Bird and the Worm" by The Used, when something caught my eye. A girl with the most perfect, pin-straight, blonde hair stood in the mouth of a dark alley way. She seemed familiar. As I watched, she turned her head to the left and right, then all but ran down into the alley.

I removed the buds from my ears and turned my mp3 player off. My curiosity piqued, I stuffed my mp3 in my bag and walked after her. I wondered all the while if it was a ghost, a figment of my imagination, or a girl caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, as the old cliche went. I also wondered if I could help her.

As I walked down the alley, a sense of foreboding fell upon me. It was almost as if I knew something awful was going to happen, but I pressed on anyways, heedless of my instinct.

I have replayed this scene ten-thousand times in my mind. Sometimes, I yell to myself to turn away, to run like hell in the other direction, and to forget the girl. There's nothing that can be done about the past, however.

Muffled voices met my ears as I reached the end of the alleyway, where the walls took a sharp turn to my left. I approached the turn quietly, and peeked around its corner.

The blonde-haired girl stood with her back turned to me, talking with what appeared to be another woman. The odd sense of familiarity returned. I knew this girl.

My eyes were drawn to a movement at the girls left. I silently gasped. Chad was there, talking to a man with a hoodie with the hood all the way up, concealing his features. Both Chad and the hooded stranger appeared to be arguing about something.

I slid down the brick wall and edged closer to the bend, leaning out just enough to hear the conversation.

Don't ask me why I was so curious, for I often ask myself that. I just had to know what was happening; blame that on my damn curious nature.

"-the money," I heard Chad snap.

The guy in the hoodie retorted with a response I couldn't quite make out.

Chad responded by pushing the man, and the man stumbled back, falling to the ground. Chad drew a gun from the waistband of his pants, and with the way he held it, I knew it wasn't just for show. Chad, the neighborhood bully, the asshole, the dick...he killed people. The gun's barrel pointed at the man, and from the looks of it, real bullets were in the gun. It could've been an elaborate show, but I wasn't so sure. "Hand over the money."

The man appeared frightened, even though his face was hidden in the shadow of the sweater fabric. Shivering, he threw a wad of cash at Chad. The girl with blonde-hair turned and walked to stand next to Chad, completely revealing her identity to me. My eyes met her face and familiarity washed over me like cold, unforgiving water.

I mentally slapped myself. Britney Taylor stood next to her older brother, still dressed in her cheer-leading outfit. That's why she seemed so familiar. A cruel sneer filled her proud lips, arching itself gracefully on those beautiful lips. This was the girl I'd had crush on for years, as ironic as it was that Chad was her brother.

"Now the rest?" Chad asked, annoyed. The cash was still on the ground, but with the arrogance on Chad's face, it was clear that he knew that it was all accounted for. Guns give men confidence.

"Th-that was all the money I had," the hooded man stammered.

Chad sighed, and his shoulders shrugged from his tension. "Not the money you dumb-ass, the drugs."

My eyes widened in shock, though I really shouldn't have been that surprised. It wasn't startling that Chad would be into drugs, for his attitude made sense: all of the senseless beatings, the rage, and the half-assed attempts at insults. But Britney...why would she be tolerating this?

"I-I-I g-gave you the money," the frightened man stammered. "C-can I go now?"

Chad smiled and put his gun away, nestling it between his skin at his navel, and the waistband of his pants. "Sure," he said with laughter in his voice, all the while extending his hand. The guy smiled, and I could at last see the guy's face with the small amount of light in the alley way. Nervously, the guy took Chad's extended hand.

The next thing I saw was a blur. Not because the light was bad, or the actions REALLY were a blur; the details were...skewered.

As Chad pulled the man to his feet, his other hand reached around and before the man even saw it, Chad had buried a blade deep in the man's chest.

Finally, I'd seen enough. I started to slowly back away as I heard the man's body crumple into a worn heap on the cold earth. Unfortunately, I was so focused on not being seen, I forgot to watch where I stepped .I managed to step on a can, which didn't crush behind my feet like the typical linoleum. It stayed cylindrical, and it rolled backwards, which caused me to fall. My head connected with the corner of the dumpster behind me, and the sound of my skull cracking reverberated around the alleyway. It sounded like a gunshot.

I lay there, dazed and nursing my pain, when I saw booted feet approach me.

Sound returned to my world as I felt my body being lifted from the earth. This would've been a lot less painful had it not been by the collar of my shirt. My half-open eyes managed to focus on the sneering visage of Chad, and with every blink I saw something new: Chad's cruel eyes, the stubble on his chin, and finally, the sinister set to his mouth.

"Look what we've got here." Chad's sarcastic voice reached my ears and I felt my heart stop. The Chad I simply knew as a bully evaporated before my eyes, and in its place was a killer with ice in his veins. His face twisted in mock surprise when he saw my shock.

He roughly shoved me against the stone wall, and in his efforts, my feet barely touched the ground. My heels connected with the wall, and all the while my hands gripped his, my attempts at getting him to let me go were feeble at best. The stress was still on the collar of my shirt, and with the way he was pulling the fabric, he easily could've killed me by asphyxiation alone.

"It seems we have a fly on the wall," Chad sneered in my face. His breath smelt horrible, and until that moment, I had never seen eyes that were more filled with malice.

"I swear I didn't see a thing," I blurted. I sounded like such a pansy, like a coward who would do anything to live.

Chad laughed, and that's when I noticed the people behind him. Britney stood with her arms crossed, smiling in the way only she knew how to: with the cruel upturning of her lips.

I was done for.

xXx

The two Montgomery twins stood a ways back, Bill and Tom. Tom was the smarter of the two, and to put it bluntly, I doubted either of them had an IQ above 70. He stood with his back against the wall with his arms crossed, all the while smiling.

Bill stood a little closer to Chad, wearing a ball-cap that was turned to the left and looked like it was just asking for a small gust of wind to blow. If this had been any other time, I would have scoffed and called him a Neanderthal.

The third person was a girl of average height, with long black-hair that fell in ringlets to her hips. Her features were etched in fear, and she stood a little apart from the others, almost as if she was afraid they would tear her limb from limb at any given moment. I recognized her from some class of mine, though I never would have thought she would be into these kind of things. Veronica, I think her name was.

Chad let go of my shirt so suddenly, I stumbled back a small ways. Then, acting as if we were the oldest of friends, dusted the top of my shirt off. He smiled, and replied to my past statement, "Of course not."

That's when the beating began.

Chad grabbed me by the throat and then without warning, slammed me into the stone wall behind us. He punched me in the stomach, his knuckles slamming into part of my rib-cage, and if I'd had anything in my stomach aside from that age-old pizza, I would've vomited, then and there. For a moment, I balanced my body on Chad's fist, and then slipped sideways to the ground. I heard laughter, (demonic in origin, I swear) and then I felt the strap of my messenger bag slip from my arms, and the contents of my bag scattered over my half-conscious body.

I felt something hard hit me in the head. After the throbbing ended, I managed to open my eyes, and my cell-phone lay in front of my face. With my back turned to them, I had one chance to pull this off. Slowly, I reached for the device that could save my life. Luck had to be on my side at some point, right?

Chad laughed. "He keeps a diary!"

The others snickered as Chad read out loud some of my most private thoughts. Well, they can go ahead and laugh, I thought, because they'd be in jail soon.

My hand tightened over my cell phone and I slowly drew it in, close to my chest. I pressed the nine button, and thanked whatever god there was that I kept my phone on silent.

"Britney," Chad chuckled. "Look what this dork wrote about you!"

Chad was laughing hysterically as I pressed the last number, and the phone began to ring. Hope filled my heart, but of course, it didn't last. As soon as it hit the second ring, I felt a sharp pain in my back.

_Why I thought luck would be on my side at all was beyond my understanding, even to this day_.

"You think you're gonna call the cops on us?" Britney demanded, ripping the phone from my shaking hands. "You're nothing but a pathetic piece of trash, emo-scum. You're nothing!" She exclaimed, screaming the last words. "Nobody cares about a piece of shit like you," She laughed, and I swear it sounded like the cackling of a hellion. "Hell, your own mother doesn't want you."

"Haaarsh," Bill laughed, and he never sounded more like a buffoon than right then.

"Shut-up, Bill." Britney commanded.

Her words hit me hard; not only because I'd had had a crush on Britney for several years now, but also because I found a bit of truth to her words. Tears threatened to flood my eyes, but I held them back. I would not show weakness for these idiotic thugs and that pretentious bitch. Their true colors never looked more black.

"Britney," I croaked. "Fuck off."

Britney did a grunt/scream thing (you know, the kind spoiled kids do when they don't get their way) and kicked me again in the back. Black dots filled my already blurred vision, and I wondered why it didn't just end already.

She kicked me again and again and again, until I couldn't feel my back anymore. I just lay there; not trying to fight back, not really caring if I lost my life here. I mean, who would care? Besides Max, no one would give a shit. Janice would probably celebrate. And my dad? He never cared. All he ever cared about was work.

"How-do-you-like-that?" She screamed, still kicking me, not realizing I had lost all feeling long ago. Blood oozed out of my mouth and onto the cool earth, and I entertained myself by watching it pool. She must have damaged an organ.

"Britney," I barely heard Chad say. "Stop."

Britney stopped kicking, and with a sneer, spit on me and mumbled that I was a gruff loser before I heard her high heels click away.

"Tom, Bill," Chad said, barely suppressing the laugh in his voice. "Go flip that emo over, then hold down his arms."

"Yessir," Bill yelled.

"Oh, shut-up, Bill." Britney muttered.

I felt myself being pulled upwards as I was flipped over, my head lolling to the side. I was only conscious enough to realize what was happening around me, but not enough to physically do much about it.

I coughed, and pain radiated throughout my body. Blood gurgled upwards, slithering down my cheek like a crimson, liquid snake.

Tom and Bill were crouched on either side of me, holding my arms down. Like I could do anything, anyway. The thought formed in my head as I cracked my eyes open. With a raspy, weak, voice, I managed to say: "What did I ever do to you?"

Chad walked over to me, his face housing a twisted smile. He rested the sharp edge of a knife against his cheek as He squatted down next to me and whispered: "What did you ever do," He laughed, falsely pondering the question I've always wanted to know. "I'll tell ya what ya did." He bent down closer, moving the blade so it fell against my cheek, so that we were face to face. "You," he poked me in the chest "were born."

_I remember thinking 'Why me?'. I remember the indifference I had felt earlier intensify, nestling its apathetic head deeper into my heart. The only thing I could think of in this, My Darkest Hour, was not only self-pity and loathing, but also of a girl; a girl I would never see laugh, or smile, ever again_.

Chad gave each of the twins a knife. He told them to cut my arms; to cut me deep like the 'Emo' I was. And as the twins rolled the sleeves of my jacket up, I looked to the sky; I thought of the only person in the world I had ever cared about, and I said, albeit weakly: "You won't get away with this."

Chad laughed, but otherwise didn't reply.

As the cold metal bit into my skin, I smiled. I managed to count up to ten cuts on my right arm and fifteen on my left before Chad showed his face again. I'm not sure how I was still conscious, but I knew that I wouldn't be able to move even if I tried to.

The world was spinning as Chad squatted over me, and my eyes were barely able to focus on his sneering image. He whispered a mock prayer as he lifted a bloodied blade to my face, moonlight glinting off its crimson edge.

And with those words I felt that cold object slither across my throat, and then warmth seeped onto my shoulders, down across my chest, and it poured down my stomach. My body grew colder before becoming completely numb as I bled out what little blood remained_. It was so beautiful_...

Thunder boomed overhead as I lay dying, and cold rain splashed against my clammy skin. I still don't know how I felt the wetness of the rain, but I remember being so cold at the end. I remember seeing booted feet as darkness claimed me, and then I was gone.

_I'm sure you all enjoyed that wondrous tale of the end of My Pathetic Life. But my story's not over yet. In fact, you could say my story just began. Sometimes, I wish it hadn't. Sometimes, I really wished I had died. But regrets are for another time, another hour_…

xXx

It was raining.

The creature loved the rain, for where it came from, the weather was always the same. Dreary. No change. There was no sun, no moon; no rain, no fog. Just the endless sea of mists that made up for the lack of atmospheric changes.

As the creature approached the dead child, a smile touched its pale lips. This boy would be perfect for its plans, and not even Death itself could intervene with that.

"Awaken," the creature mumbled, in a voice that sounded like a thousand resonating chimes.

As the child's soul returned to its body, the creature turned, and with a smile on its lips, dropped a book. Before it could be seen, the being evaporated into the sea of never-ending mists.


	3. Blood And Bliss

Chapter Two

Blood And Bliss

_**Don't want to let it**_

_**Lay Me Down This Time**_

_**Drown My Will To Fly**_

_**Here In The Darkness**_

_**I Know Myself**_

_**Can't Break Free**_

_**Until I Let It Go**_

_**Let Me Go**_

_**-Evanescence**_

_I remember Darkness. _

_It was everywhere. All around me; nothing but blinding, suffocating, darkness. Hell, Maybe _I _was darkness. I don't know. I don't think I'll ever truly know. All I know is that I was both terrified _and_ comforted at the same time. Weird, huh?_

_Now floating along in that darkness, that darkness that I feared and loved, I thought; I thought for what felt like eternity, and maybe it was. I thought about many things; My friend, Max, the only person I ever truly cared about; My mother, Janice, Who probably didn't even know, or care, that I was dead; My Father, Who I know was to busy to notice the continued absence of phone calls and complaints; Chad and the others, My murderers….My life in general. _

_And I came to a conclusion; Life wasn't fair. I was a victim all of my life…right until the end. _

_It was amidst these thoughts that a light broke through my darkness. _

"_Awaken."_

I coughed. Hard.

Blood oozed and spurted from my mouth, and as I opened my eyes, I found I was looking into the night sky. Rain fell in droplets against my cold, numb skin, and I found that I could move, if only a little. Slowly, I sat up. My hand felt something leather, and I slipped; Pain radiated through out my body as I hit the ground _again_.

_How the hell am I still alive?_ I thought, confused, as the memories returned to me. _Chad slit my throat…did I imagine all that?_

But then, why would I be lying in a dark alleyway for God knows how long at God knows what time? And why would I be covered in blood?

It didn't add up.

None of it added up.

I tried to sit up again, and grinded my teeth against the sudden pain. I grabbed at the leather thing that caused me to slip earlier, and pulled it onto my lap. Everything ached, burned, stinged, and hurt. I managed to use my arms to pull my injured body from the rain, putting my back against the brick wall and my side against a dumpster. I huddled up against myself and shivered in the rain.

This wasn't right.

I was _dead._

And now I'm alive?

I shook my head, deciding to think about it later. I had to get out of this alleyway; but my house was at least two miles away, and with the beating I took, I didn't think I could make it. But then I remembered where Max lived.

Max lived in an apartment complex to the south of here her parents paid for, for her. In a sense, we're a lot a like; neither one of our parents really gave a shit about us. The only reason Max's parents gave her an apartment was because they wanted her out of their hair; but didn't want to look bad for it.

Slowly, I managed to stand, still clutching the odd leather rectangle in my left hand. It felt like a book, or maybe a journal of some sort. I didn't know, but I told myself I'd look at it later. Right now, I needed to get to Max's.

Using the dumpster next to me as support, I began to walk out of the alley. I saw a few kids running around in costumes, so at least I was covered there. I bet I looked horrible. Or maybe I looked great. Who knows?

The moon was full overhead by the time I reached Max's apartment. I knocked heavily on the door for several minutes, until I heard Max's voice yell in a very irritated voice that she was coming.

When she answered the door she laughed and said_ nice costume_. I smiled weakly, then everything went black, and I fell forward, right into Max's surprised arms.

_I don't remember much beyond this point besides bright lights and Max's worried face. I remember asking her if I was dead again, then I remember darkness. _

I woke up in a painfully bright room, with white tiled floors, and white walls. I tried to sit up, but felt something tugging on my arms as I did so. I looked down and saw that I had several Iv's stuck in both elbows, stuck under the thick white bandages that twisted around my arms. I lay back down, weary from the effort.

I touched my throat and forehead, and was met with the same thick bandages. I sighed and closed my eyes as the memories returned, still perplexed.

I turned my head and noticed Max, curled up in the chair next to me. A pang of surprise and guilt muddled together in my heart. She stayed with me. _Max…_

Seeming to feel my stare, Max woke up. Noticing that I was awake and staring at her, tears flooded her eyes. "Oh thank God!" She cried.

In a split second she had thrown her arms around my neck, crying heavily into my shoulder. The thick bandage around my throat was making this uncomfortable, but I ignored it. She kept repeating _thank God_ and _I thought you were gone_ over and over again. I just sat there; not knowing what to do or say. Although I don't remember doing so, I had put my arms around her body. A couple of Iv's got ripped out of my arm, but I didn't care.

When finally Max pulled away, teary eyed, snot nosed, and her make up running down her face, she asked the question I'd been dreading.

"Chris….Tell me what happened to you."

I looked down. "I…" I began, my hands searching for my instinctively necklace, which wasn't there. "I don't remember."

_I don't know why I lied to her. I still don't. Maybe because it was so farfetched. _

She looked down, and fiddled an identical necklace. Then, mumbling, she said:

"It was Chad again, wasn't it?"

I didn't answer, just sat there, clutching the white hospital blanket.

"I knew it," She all but yelled. "He did this! I'll kill him!"

"Max," I said. "He'll kill you in a heartbeat….he had no hesitation when he killed me."

Her eyes lit up with surprise and I cursed in my head. "I-I mean almost killed me," I stuttered.

Max looked at me, doubt muddling her pretty features. "Chris, tell me exactly what happened," She commanded, bits of her long, curly, black hair falling into her face. She has always hated her curly hair.

"Max…" I sighed. "Can I please….just rest for a bit?"

Max sighed. "Promise me you'll tell me later? The truth?"

I sighed. "I promise."

At that moment a nurse walked in, pushing a cart. She smiled when she saw that I was awake, and said she was going to check on my Iv's before the doctor came in, then scolded me for ripping a few out. After replacing them_, _she asked me my pain level_, one _being the lowest_, five _being the highest. I replied a modest _two _even though it was more like a _ten_.

The nurse gave me a disbelieving look and told me I didn't have to be tough, before administering some drugs to the end of one of my Iv's. Then, she said the doctor would be in In a few moments, took her cart, and left.

As the pain started to recede from my body, my thoughts became disheveled, and a smile touched my lips, though I'm not sure why. _Must be Morphine. _I laughed. Morphine was such a funny word.

Max looked at me, a bit of a smile splayed on her black-stained lips. "Max," I laughed. "Max!"

"Yes?" She laughed. It was so good to see her laugh.

"Come here," I made little waving motions, signaling her.

She stood and walked the short distance to my bed. "Yes?"

"Closssser," I hissed.

She bent down closer and I grabbed her face and turned it sideways. Then, pressing my lips against her ear, whispered:

"Your sooo pretty." I laughed and let go of her face.

Max blushed a deep red. "Um….Thank you."

I laughed again.

"Chris? Can I ask you something?"

I giggled. "Max," I started. "You're face is still so red."

She smiled. "Chris, did you really die?"

I stopped laughing. "It was dark," I slurred.

"What was dark?" Max replied, a worried expression forming on her pretty face.

Just then the doctor entered the room. Max informed him that I was higher than a crack-heads kite, and I denied it, looking at Max with my index finger to my lips, laughing. He said he'll simply come back when the Morphine's side effects wear off to talk to me, but he wanted to talk to Max in the hallway. I laughed when I heard the word _Morphine_.

Max laughed at something the doctor said, and she as she got up to follow the doctor into the hall, I yelled something to her.

_At the time, I wasn't sure what the hell I had said, or if I had even meant it. All I know is that, whatever I had said, had brought tears to her eyes and a beautiful smile to her lips. I remember foolishly smiling back, before everything went utterly black; but even now, in the midst of all that's happened, that smile…I knew in my heart that I wanted to see it again, everyday of my life. _

When I woke up later the room was dark, and Max was gone. I felt a twinge of hurt, but understood that she had a life. She couldn't be sitting in here with me all day and night; the notion that she would is ridiculous.

I snorted and, sitting up, I ripped the iv's from my arms. A few beads of crimson blood ran down my arms, but I didn't bother wiping it off; it didn't matter to me.

Turning the bed light on, I swung my legs off the side of the bed, took a deep breath, and attempted to stand up. My first try landed me back on the bed. I cursed silently, then ripped the hospital socks I was wearing off.

My second try was a little more successful. I not only managed to stand, but also to make it to the chair across the tiny room; the little wooden recliner I had seen max curled up in, when I first woke up. As I leaned over it, I noticed what appeared to be a black plastic bag sitting in the seat of the chair.

Curious, I picked it up, dumping its contents on the old wooden recliner. Clothing fell out, along with a pair of converse shoes. _Max must went shopping,_ I thought._ I gues0s she left her clothes here._

But as I picked the shoes up to inspect them, I noticed they were a size12. In men's.

I dropped the shoes on the floor and proceeded to pick through the clothes.

I picked up an article of clothing, and, finding the right side, saw that it was a shirt. The front read _Godsmack, _in big , red, letters. Behind it were tribal designs decorated in crimson, with a huge red tribal sun, right behind the band name. I set it on the top of the chair.

Next I picked up a pair of pants; Chains hung off the back and front, as did removable crimson strips; I smiled. _Tripp pants. _I was starting to think Max left these here on purpose.

I hung the pants were I laid the shirt, and picked up the next thing.

It was a heavy, black hoodie. Upon further examination, I found that it read _Tool_ across the chest and back, with a mixture of gray, brown, and red mingling in the background.

I draped the hoodie over the chair and picked the last two things up.

One of the last items was a Black bandana, with a pattern of white dragon skulls on it. I have to say that I not only _liked _it, but I _fuckin_' _loved _it.

The last thing was a pair of black arm warmers, elbow length. I smiled.

Quickly, (Well, as quickly as one with so many injuries could muster) I undressed. I threw the hospital gown on the floor, and slipped the Tripp pants on. They were lose, but close enough.

Next, I painstakingly tried to put the shirt on, but after one painful attempt, quickly decided not to bother. Instead, I slipped the _Tool_ jacket on, wincing slightly as the sleeves dragged against my bandages.

As I was going to sit down, something caught my eye; A black, leather bound journal was sitting in the seat of the chair. The front of the journal read _Death Note _in slivery letters. A blood red ribbon snaked across the front, reflecting the dim glow from the bed light. I reached to pick it up, but as my fingers touched its surface, a cold shock raced through my fingertips, up through my arm, and throughout my body. I jerked my hand away.

_What the hell was that?_ I thought.

Hesitantly, I stretched my arm out towards the book once more. I cringed as my fingers touched its leathery surface, but nothing happened. No cold electricity shot though my finger tips this time, and I sighed with relief. _must've been my mind playing tricks on me._

Still, stranger things have been happening…

I picked the journal up and flipped open its cover,

Silvery lettering against a black background catching my eyes. The page read, starting from the top, _Death Note: How To use it._

_The Human whose name is written in this note shall die._

I chuckled, closing the book, when a thought occurred to me.

_How long have I been out?_ I thought with an edge of panic. _It couldn't have been more than a couple of days, right?_

I shook my head. I'd have time to think about this later.

Sticking the leather book into my jacket and under my bare arm, I carefully sat down in the hospital chair to tug the converse's on, cringing as I bent over. The book felt strangely icy against my fevered skin, as if it had been sitting in the arctic for the past hour, not in a hospital chair. I threw the _Godsmack _shirt over my shoulder, then, I tied the bandana around my throat; Loosely, of course.

Exhaling as I stood, my body aching, burning, and pounding everywhere, I walked to the door, leading out into the hallway. I cracked it open and dim light filtered in. I glanced down the hallway, right then left, and after assuring myself that no one was there (minus a random nurse somehow appearing to busy herself with a seemingly empty cart), exited the room.

As quickly as my injuries allowed, I half limped half pathetically-ran down the hallway until I found an elevator, all the while keeping an eye out for anyone in scrubs. A light flickered over head as I punched the button for the elevator, and I swear I heard the faint giggle of a girl.

At last, I heard the elevator chime and the doors open. I stepped inside, quickly pressing the _floor one_ button.

The overhead lights flickered as the elevator came to a stop with a grinding _screech_, and the doors opened. I stepped out into the dim lit corridor, with the strangest feeling of being watched. I looked around, and, as I thought, there was no one around.

The feeling of being watched persisted as I walked past a (thankfully) empty nurses station/reception desk, and exited the automatic double doors leading outside. Fortunately, my house was not a far walk from here. I zipped my hoodie up and started the six block walk in the chilly autumn air.

By the time I made it home, every inch of my body ached and burned, pounding in unison with my heartbeat. As silently as I could, I opened the front door, hoping Janice was passed out somewhere.

I should know better by now then to hope at all.

The television was blasting some game show and against its light I saw the silhouette of a woman standing, a bottle clasped in her hand. She seemed to sway a bit, side to side, back and forth. Silently, I closed the door behind me, and began to creep by.

The door closed with a _thud_ and I swore under my breath as Janice turned around, liquid sloshing from the half empty bottle and onto the already stained carpet. "Chris? Is that you?" she slurred.

I paused, unsure of what to do.

"Chris? Baby, is that you?" Janice began to stumble towards were I stood frozen, caught like a deer in headlights.

I urged my legs to work, to move, but frozen they stayed.

It was then that I realized just how poor Janice looked.

Her hair was long and brown, lacking luster and very thin and tangled. Her brown eyes were glazed over in a state of what seemed like permanent drunkenness, and her flaccid skin hung draped over her bones, framing her sunken face.

Janice finally made her way to me, and a cold bead of sweat ran from my forehead. She wrapped her arms around my shoulders in a loose embrace, and after a moment I finally found my will to move.

I pulled away from her, and in response, she jerked her hand from my shoulder and slapped me across the face so hard my head snapped back and my vision blurred red. She slapped me again and again, until finally I caught her hand and threw her back.

She landed with a heavy thud on the floor, her bottle of alcohol spilling over and draining into the filthy carpet. After a moment of initial shock, rage overcame Janice's features. She began to stand as I turned my back to her and walked through the hallway that led to the stairs to the second floor, where my haven awaited.

No sooner had I turned my back to her than the sound of glass shattering filled my ears and something hard hit me in the shoulder, causing me to stumble and fall to one, aching kneecap.

"You shouldn't hurt your momma, Chris!" she slurred, and I swore audibly. Can't I get one freaking break?

Just _one_?

I stood, feeling warm and cool liquid alike slithering down my back. My body was pounding, my sight blurred, and I'm pretty sure my cuts had cracked open and were now bleeding heavily into the pearl white bandages, staining them crimson.

A cloud of anger and indignation rose in my chest as I turned around, facing the very woman who has made my life hell since I was born. So much has happened to me recently, and so many didn't even _care_. Of all the things said on the night I died, one rang clearer then others; Janice didn't care about me. She never has, and she never will. My own mother _hated_ me.

"You are _not_ my mother," I growled, through clenched teeth.

Janice stood there for a moment, confusion settling over her features, as if this puzzle was to complicated for her drunken mind to grasp. Then, startling me, she laughed out loud. My gut twisted.

The anger in my chest flared once again and I thought back to the journal in my hands. _I wonder…._

But I quickly dismissed the thought. It was just a journal, right? How could a journal hurt someone, let alone _kill _them?

"I never asked for a faggot like you, anyway," she stated, picking up a beer bottle from a nearby coffee table and taking a large swig from it. "If I had a real son, he wouldn't be some rail thin _girl_," she paused, taking another mouthful of the foul liquid. "He'd be a _real_ man, or at least dress in boys clothing."

Now it was _my _turn to laugh.

"And if you were a real mother, she would actually take care of her son, not whore herself for booze. You know, maybe buy some groceries?"

Janice narrowed her eyes, and at that moment more than any, I was glad I hid all the knives in the house. "You little _bitch_," she snarled, stumbling towards me. "Do you _know_ what I've given up for you?" She slurred.

"What?" I laughed. "The chance at an abortion?"

"You know what? Maybe I _should _have aborted you! You've caused me nothing but problems and money anyway." she took another gulp from her beer, liquid slithering down her cheek.

"You didn't abort me because you knew you'd be getting a hefty child support check to spend _on booze_, you _whore_."

What happened next was kind of a blur. Janice staggered towards me in a mock run, the beer left forgotten on the stained carpet. Her hands met my throat and we tumbled backwards, were I hit my head hard against the blunt end of a protruding nail in the wall. Stars filled my blurry vision as her hands squeezed my throat, cutting precious oxygen from my lungs.

"I never loved you, you piece of shit!" She screamed. "And your right about the money," she laughed. "That's all you are to me. A check."

That was it. That was the last straw. I am _so sick _of being abused, so _sick_ of being hated, hurt, and beaten.

With an effort I managed to reach up and grab her long hair, yanking it down with a _snap_, causing her to roll off me and hit the floor with a heavy _thud_. As quick as I could manage, I rolled to my feet and half staggered half ran to the stairs, my body pounding harder then ever, hearing her footsteps tottering behind me.

I made it to the stairs, and with an aching groan, pulled myself up with the help of the guard rail. I made it to the top without incident, not once looking behind me. I stumbled down the hallway, searching my pockets for the key to my room.

_crap… _I thought._ Max must have took it._

Swearing to myself, I swerved the corner to the bathroom, throwing open the door and quickly slamming it behind me. I threw the deadbolt back, hoping it would hold against Janice's drunken rage. I slumped against the cold wood of the entrance, my body pounding, thumping, burning, and stinging, the heavy tottering of Janice's footsteps growing closer.

"Chris!" She shouted. I heard the metallic scraping of metal against wood. A bead of sweat ran down the back of my neck, my heart pounding against my rib cage like a hammer to a nail. _Fuck…_

"Chris," She shouted again, and the scarping grew louder._ it's a knife, _I thought, my mind teetering on the edge of panic. _She found a knife! _

Finally the footsteps stopped outside the bathroom door. For the briefest of moments, silence took hold. All was quiet, except for my rapid breathing and the swift beating of my heart pounding in my ears.

But it didn't last.

The doorknob began to rattle, and the door commenced to shake under the initial _rage_ that seemed to pour from Janice. I pressed myself harder against the door, hoping she would give up and slouch away, like usual.

After several minutes, The rattling stopped. I almost sighed with relief, almost relaxed my shoulders, when a sharp blow sounded next to my right ear.

With a shaking gaze, a slight turn of my skull, I glanced towards the glimmer of silver protruding from the wall not two inches from my head. I stumbled back, falling to my ass, dropping the leather _Death Note_ on the floor in front of the door. Janice has removed the knife and currently was yelling obscenities and stabbing the entrance over and over again. I scurried away from the doorway.

"Open-This-Door!" She shouted, enunciating each word with a jab of her blade.

I sat with my back against the wall, knees drawn up, level with my eyes. I folded my arms across my knee caps, and let the tears flow. _I'm so pathetic…Why did I survive?_

Time passed slowly. I knew the door wouldn't last much longer; I knew Janice wouldn't quit until either I was dead or hurt, or she passed out.

Amidst all Janice's yelling, stabbing, hitting, and kicking, I heard a girl giggle. Clear as a bell amongst the chaos. I lifted my head from my knees, looked around, but I saw no girl in sight. But then again, _should_ there have been one? _I'm losing my damn mind._

_Chris…_

I jerked my head up.

_Chri-is_, the bell-like voice mocked again.

"W-Who a-are you?" I stuttered, my mind reeling.

Abruptly, all the noise surrounding me quieted, becoming silent. The room began to darken, until it seemed I was sitting in nothingness; I thought maybe I had died again, until I noticed that before be sat that same journal; The _Death Note._

"What do you want?" I yelled, into the blackness. My voice echoed and bounced back, mocking me with my own weakness.

_Chris_, it simulated again, but it didn't stop there. My name repeated throughout my skull, through _me_, until I felt my brain was going to explode. I heard a scream in the distance, and a after a moment, I realized _I _was the one screaming.

Abruptly, the voices stopped; My scream died in my throat as two, little words found my ears:

_Do it._

_I honestly don't remember much beyond this point; I remember blinking, and the room returned; I remember the door bowing and bending under Janice's murderous rage; I remember the silver glint of the blade as I, as if in a trance, reached for the Death Note. I remember writing, in my own blood, the name of the one who gave me my life;_

_Janice Danielle Woods._

_Then, I remember silence. _

_Blissful, joyful, silence._

_B__lood__And_B_liss_

Chronicles Of a Monster

A/N- I hope you all enjoyed this. :) if you have any questions, please pm me or review. ^.^


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